


The Tower

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-23
Updated: 2008-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Or else a love with intuition<br/>Someone who reaches out to my weakness and won't let go<br/>I need not to need<br/>I've always been the tower"<br/>-<br/>The future has come and destiny demands its due.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tower

**Author's Note:**

> A late pinch hit that I couldn't pass up. Much love and thanks to my girls and boys at #yuletide. Summary lyrics and title snagged from Vienna Teng's The Tower.
> 
> Written for Kali

 

 

The tent felt small, suffocating him with its white, flimsy walls and the knowledge that outside his people were dying. Merlin's fingers curled under the metal of his armor, searching for any sign of injury. Arthur let him because the warlock was shaking like a leaf. They hadnt expected to be fighting _kids_. Mordred's army was a sea of young, innocent faces and sharp daggers. An army made to be massacred, the perfect foe for old, battle-weary knights - no man would stand to fight that rabble.

Outside, the sheer numbers and ferocity of Mordred's army was bringing down the might of Camelot.

"Stop fidgeting. There's something fused here that I-"

Arthur chuckled. "Merlin."

The warlock looked up from his handiwork. "Hm?"

"You could just-" Arthur made a vague, magicky gesture.

Merlin just rolled his eyes. As undignified as ever, he'd refused to let anyone else see to Arthur's armor and his wounds. Arthur complained, of course, but it reminded him of old times. Things hadn't always been simpler back then, not when it came to magic, but Merlin had been happier before.

"You look like death," Merlin said, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

Arthur smiled and pulled Merlin into a hug. The armor made it uncomfortable and clumsy, but there were days when touching Merlin was still as necessary as breathing.

"I trust you," Arthur said, because Merlin had that look in his eyes, the one that was all about guilt and secrets kept for too long, about all the people who'd died. "You'll take care of me, you always have."

And Merlin sighed. "Yes, Sire."

Arthur kissed him. "Now, get to work on this shoulder, I have an army to lead."

+

Lancelot swept his sword arm down in a graceless arc, hacking and slashing like a butcher instead of a knight. His king had been wounded, his friends and comrades were dying. There was no grace here, no grace at all.

"Mordred," he yelled, "Come out and face me, you coward!"

The dark army of youths snapped at him, cut into his skin where they could reach, and crashed into his defenses like a tidal wave against rock. It would wear him down eventually. He steadied his stance against the onslaught. A thought spared for Guinevere who would stand atop the highest tower at this very moment, searching for her husband, her friend and her lover.

Lancelot wanted nothing more than survive and return to the castle keep, sweep Guinevere into his arms and propriety be damned. Arthur had long since given up on propriety, perhaps as early as that first time Merlin crossed his path.

"I was hoping to kill Arthur first, but you will do for now."

Mordred's voice had an echo of darkness, like a thousand ghosts repeated his words just as he spoke them. Lancelot fought down the urge to shiver.

"Your head will make a fine trophy, Mordred."

He'd come to them under the guise of peace, had learned everything about them, only to stab them in the back. Camelot had no affection for traitors.

Mordred shook his head, a lopsided grin marring his face. "Lancelot, Lance-a-lot, what do you know of destiny?" He drew his mighty sword and gestured for his army to stay away. One on one, an honorable fight to the death - Lancelot expected a dagger to the back any moment.

"Destiny is a great word for sages and ministers, there is no destiny for a warrior. Just blood."

With that, Lancelot threw himself at Mordred to try and turn the tide of fate that had them all at the throat. Arthur's death loomed over them like dark storm clouds, forseen long ago by Morgana, before she, too, had turned her back on them.

+

"You shouldn't be here, my lady," Morgana said, an edge to her voice she did not wish to dull. Guinevere, Queen of Albion, looked sadly at her as if Morgana were the one who'd done wrong.

"Morgana, you've returned?" A valid question.

Morgana leaned against the battlements, her eyes sweeping over the landscape, searching out the battlefield somewhere in the distance. They should be able to see something - all the voices of the dying rang clear as glass through the halls of Camelot.

Or perhaps they were just in her head - it was hard to tell these days; what was and what wasn't. What could be.

"I liked you better when you served me," Morgana said conversationally, her thoughts still occupied with Arthur and Mordred and impossible loyalties.

"I liked you better when you weren't commiting treason with an attacking warlord," Gwen retaliated, her ire raised by Morgana's insolence. Oh, how interesting, some royalty in her after all, who would have guessed!

Laughing to herself, Morgana weighed the words in her head, examined them for hidden meanings. Then she sighed, deflating in the face of the coming darkness. "I never meant to hurt any of you."

Gwen's eyes went soft and dark. "Of course not." She looked at something over Morgana's shoulder. "But that doesn't change what you have done."

Camelot would demand blood. Morgana had always known that, had expected no less from Arthur and Albion - to be burned as a witch, screaming prophecies as the flames licked at her.

The guards were gentle at a word from the queen, but firm, as they lead her down to the dungeons. It felt familiar and soothing, this place didn't have any spare ghosts and leftover voices. It just had death.

Morgana almost welcomed it.

+

Merlin hurled balls of fire at the enemy when he could spare the time. His plans had not come through this time: magic was not enough against Mordred and his lost children.

Not for the first time he wondered what kind of kingdom Albion would have been if Mordred had died at Uther's hand years ago. Arthur's vision was about to crumble into dust and most of it could be traced back to some mistake Merlin had made.

He hissed a word of disintegration at an attacking soldier and watched as the man fell to pieces.

"Fall back, everyone, fall back. We can't hold this position." Had he mentioned leading a small army to his past self, if only in dreams, his younger form would have laughed and laughed and never stopped. He was no warlord, no great general. All he could do was light people on fire, call down some thunder and lightning. The only reason he had even agreed to stand at the very center of battle was so he could watch out for Arthur - a task he would not relinquish even in death. He'd looked up enough spells to make sure Arthur would reach safety even if Merlin's heart was pierced with steel and his limbs torn from his body.

"Merlin," Arthur's voice came from behind, so close it sent a jolt down Merlin's spine.

"Not now," he said, frying another assault before it could reach them. "Kind of busy here, if you haven't noticed." Busy fighting your war. Merlin blinked, lost concentration, and it was all Arthur could do to get him out of the way before a large battle-axe split his head in two. Knights pressed forward and subdued the unearthly child with the enormous weapon.

Still no killing. The knights would pay for that dearly.

"You are an idiot," Arthur said, but his face was tucked into Merlin's neck and his arms tight around him. Safe.

Merlin shuddered. "They're just kids."

Arthur didn't say anything.

+

Gwen stood.

She waited for word, waited for the inevitable; and she stood at the highest vantage point of Camelot, waiting for destiny to finally ask its due.

The tower stood at her back, strong and unmoving.

People came to her every day now, asking for help, for guidance, for justice. In Arthur's absence, Gwen had every right and every responsibility that came with the crown.

This, all this, was her country to lead and protect.

If Arthur didnt return-

All the men that she loved, of those Lancelot would be the unlucky fallen. If Arthur died on the battlefield, Merlin and Lancelot would not return, but Lancelot did not inspire that kind of blind, fierce loyalty. Arthur's love only belonged to two things: Albion and Merlin.

And Merlin was so tightly bound to Arthur, he might as well be part of him.

If they were to fall tonight, it would be Gwen who'd lead the people into a new day. She was no longer scared, though her heart ached at the thought.

She stood her vigil.

Until dawn.

 


End file.
